life from a jar •

one

"All I'm saying is that if Margaret didn't mean anything by it she wouldn't have done it in the first place."

I scoffed into the speaker, "Okay, and all I'm saying is that you're thinking too much into it like you always do."

Knowing precisely what would happen next I toss my phone on my bed. My eyes rolled when I lifted myself up, still hearing the voice coming from the other line. It would be awhile until he finished, so I slung my feet from the bed and made my way into the bathroom, turning on the water in the process. The shower stuttered before it started flowing evenly in a stream.

I let out a long sigh, another school day would come tomorrow and Sunday had somehow gotten away from me yet again.

Turning the knob until the temperature was scalding hot, I move two steps away to meet the mirror that attached to the medicine cabinet over the sink. I gazed at the reflection that enveloped everything people saw when they saw me. You can't help but wonder if it weren't for their mandatory once-overs, would I think differently about the face looking back at me. It's a known fact that appearances are a significant part of what hold this world together, or maybe it's just human nature to stare and judge and walk away. It's a vicious cycle, and it was hard to tell which of those was a better option.

My eyes gaze to the sink briefly before they look up again. And I'm met with blonde straight-across bangs hung just atop sandy eyelashes. My hazel eyes I'd wished were purely the color green bore into themselves looking darker than usual, and droopy as per usual.                  

Steam quickly rose from beyond the shower curtain like when a thunderstorm comes to its end. The moment when the sky retrieves what it had just beat down, lifting the fog back into the air as if being resurrected.

The mirror was becoming a blank canvas, wiping what was once a girl away with it.

When my reflection vanished completely is when I slip out of my day clothes, stepping in carefully and basking in the burning feeling of boiling water thrashing onto my back. It burned in a way that sends a chill shimmying over my skin. Even in the youngest years of this life the feeling was pleasant. Dad didn't hold back the fact that he didn't and will at no time in the future understand why, but that's just what he says.

Letting myself have fifteen minutes to finish up, my eyes trailed to the clock. The red glowing letters showed my allotted time I'd given myself when I wrapped a fluffy towel around my body proudly.

Tiptoeing from the connecting bathroom and into the same childlike room caused a sigh to slip from my lips. The room was the same room I'd had for four years now.

When the movers came to box everything up from our old house, it was safe to say their confusion filled the room when they stepped foot into mine.

It wasn't even the fact it appeared childlike, but it felt almost like a full-out nursery- excluding a crib. It was as if nothing had changed since I was born, and I was born to be babied, but the truth couldn't be farther from that. Although, I wasn't allowed to even try to land a paying half-time job anywhere, so that meant having to do with living alongside the room decor I'd been dealt with.

The walls are a bland beige color, but the room still swam in light shades of pink and baby blue. Every space was filled to the brim with flowers, race cars, children's books, broken and abandoned unisex toys, and a spot that was truly mine; my bed.

The voice from my phone that lay abandoned was still blabbering on while I brush my hair and teeth. I even find the time to change into a comfy pair of pajamas when I pick up the device swiftly.

"Yeah I'm still here," I say, sitting back on my bed criss-cross applesauce style. The hair on my back was still damp as water seeped through the material of my shirt. Water droplets dripped from the tips of my bangs onto my cheeks like teardrops, and I wiped them off with the end of my sleeve every so often.